The Dreams of Lovers
by FlowerOwl
Summary: Even as Juliet felt her consciousness slip away, she saw the fire devour Verona and how the plan that had been meant to save the flicker of love that was still left within the city walls had instead doomed them all.


The mixture was warm in her hand. Juliet was not sure if that observation was due to how tightly she was gripping the little vial or if it had always been that way, burning against her hand, but as she brought it up to her lips, the potion hitting her lips, continuing past her teeth, she knew that, had there been any other way, she would never have allowed this to happen. If only they had been able to live in peace, if she had not been a Capulet, if Romeo had not been a Montague, then they would be together now.

If only. Those were words she had repeated to herself more times than she could count over those last few hours. There were so many things that could have ended differently, so many little details that had all been wrong that had now brought the desperation that made her tip the vial, pouring the last bit of the mixture into her body, along with it and had taken both Tybalt and Mercutio away from them.

Juliet could feel how the effects of the sleeping draught slowly crept closer to her, at once both shivering in the cold night air while also feeling like she was aflame, and although she knew that those thoughts only led to tears and grief, she could not help but wonder if this had been what Tybalt had felt when he had lain there on the ground, waiting, as his blood and life slowly seeped into the stones underneath him.

Had it hurt? She wanted to believe that it hadn't. The kind of cold, dark fear that had almost been enough to make her place the vial back down onto her table, rendering her unable to continue with the plan, was not something she would ever have wished for even her worst enemy to experience.

Enemy.

It echoed in her ears, the sound of it making her dizzy, though Juliet suspected that what she was feeling was really the result of the liquid that was now spreading through her veins. That was the word. The feud an enmity between their families was what had ultimately claimed both Tybalt's and Mercutio's lives.

As her limbs slowly grew heavier, her head throbbing with pain, making Juliet find herself with no other choice but to give in and lean back, the soft sheets enveloping her, almost threatening to choke her as the red colour that seemed to surround her no matter where she would look grew deeper, she could almost hear how Tybalt had laughed when she had tried to ask him if they really would never be able to create peace in Verona. The Montagues were not interested in peace; they only wanted to see that their family would be led into ruin. That had been what he had answered before offering to show her how he could climb up into the tallest tree in the garden, making it seem like he was unaffected by gravity, never once showing even a hint of fear of how the ground was waiting below him, waiting for the moment when he would slip.

Had he been afraid in the end? Juliet knew that she would never be able to receive an answer to her questions, and yet, that was all that filled her mind as her consciousness slipped out of her hands little by little. Had her cousin spent his last moments lying on the ground in the streets of Verona, afraid of what was to come, regretting the things that had plotted the course that had resulted in Mercutio collapsing next to Romeo? The servants had told her how Tybalt had used the last moments of his life to scream that he had not meant for it to happen, that, no matter how bloody the history of the feud between their families had been, he had not wanted for anyone to die that day. Of course, with Tybalt gone, Juliet would never be able to know if that was the truth. The servant could have had so many reasons for wanting to lie to her, to spare her feelings, to make it seem like Tybalt had been a victim of an unjust crime. Still, Juliet hoped that she had told her the truth. If Tybalt could perhaps have agreed with her in his last moments, there might still be hope for her and Romeo.

Romeo. His name echoed through her head, and had it not been for how even continuing to breathe was growing more and more difficult with each passing second, Juliet knew that she would have panicked, tried to sit up, to tell someone—her parents, Romeo, Tybalt's spirit she could still feel lingering in the house—that she had changed her mind, when she realised that she could no longer picture his face, the way the corners of his lips had been pulled upwards into a soft smile when she had told him how she would ask her nurse to find him to give him her answer becoming blurry, even as she tried to focus on nothing but his eyes.

She could feel how her body lost the fight, and as she slipped away, a sudden sense of lightness washed over her, for once replacing the dread and fear that had filled her those past years.

Looking down, Juliet could see her own sleeping form, the girl seeming so small as she lay there, her hair fanned out over the red sheets. But while she knew that it was still her, that, while part of her might have left when the effects of the mixture reached her heart, it was all so distant, unreal. So even as the nurse burst into the room the next morning, Juliet watching as she made sure to put on a cheery expression before walking over to shake her awake, only for Juliet to remain asleep, limp no matter how many times the nurse screamed her name, and she knew that she should have felt her chest tightening, her stomach dropping to the floor, as the tears pressed against her eyes, begging to be allowed to stream down her face, Juliet was unable to feel more than pity for how the hopelessness of the situation had now trapped them all, her parents entering the room moments later, the yells and whispers that had filled the hallway having alerted them to the decision their daughter had made during the night.

Juliet saw how her mother stepped forward, moving over to reach out towards her, placing her hand on her cheek like she almost could not believe that she was not waking up, before she turned around in the air.

There, standing in the street below, looking up at them and no doubt hearing the screams proclaiming how she was now dead, Juliet could see Benvolio, see how he glanced down at the ground in front of him before the sorrow that was etched into his face disappeared for a moment, a determined look replacing the tears in his eyes as he turned around. Juliet could almost feel how his silent promise to ensure that he would be the one to tell Romeo about what had happened, to make sure that he would be told by a friend, cast a shadow over her world. Only the letter that contained the secret, the key to let Romeo know what he would have to do almost appeared to glow in the light of the rising sun, and Juliet followed along as Benvolio began the journey towards Mantua. Although she rationally knew that Benvolio would not be able to see her, she still made sure to stay hidden, flying from tree to tree, hiding behind the houses he would pass before following along when she was sure he would not notice it.

He had been present when Mercutio and Tybalt had died, Juliet remembered. Romeo had told her that, had tried to explain to her how they had tried to keep Mercutio and her cousin apart. Even with how she had left her physical form behind her the moment the effects of the potion had claimed her, Juliet could still recall the way the tears had felt when she had wiped them away from his eyes before telling him that they were not able to change the past and that the only thing they could do now was to look to the future and try to ensure that no one else would have to die for the feud to end.

As both she and Benvolio made the journey to Mantua, the sun slowly rose, climbing over the horizon, bathing the landscape in a golden glow. Although she could no longer feel the warmth of the sun against her skin, Juliet still glanced up towards it, imagining how it would have felt if she had really been there, been able to walk next to Benvolio rather than being forced to float along behind him. Would they have talked? Juliet could not imagine that they would not at least have tried—Capulet and Montague. Perhaps they could find hope for the future as they would walk next to each other. With how she had been able to secure a promise to deliver a letter to Romeo to help them escape and find a better life someplace where the feud would not be able to find them, the hope that Benvolio would have cared more about the future than the past did not seem as foolish as she would have assumed it to be only a few days ago.

But as a cloud moved in front of the sun and an eerie blue glow replaced the golden light that had illuminated the trees around them only moments before, Juliet could feel how something had happened already, had passed. She was not sure exactly what it was—if the thirst for blood and revenge had finally proved to be more than the prince would be able to control, if her parents had decided that they would wait for a little longer in the hope that she would then wake up—but with how a sudden feeling of dread made her blood feel lie ice in her veins, Juliet already knew that something had happened, something that none of them could ever have planned for.

Perhaps she should not have been surprised when the letter did not reach Romeo, when circumstances that had always been beyond their control made it so that Benvolio found him before the letter did.

Still, as Romeo shook his head, first whispering something, but then falling to his knees as he begged Benvolio to tell the truth, to tell him that Juliet was still alive, the only thing she wanted to do was to walk over to him and tell him that she was really there with him, that he would not have to fear as she would wake up once more in only a few hours. But no matter how many times Juliet tried to wrap her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace to help him remain standing, she always continued straight through him, his grief washing over her each time, almost proving to be enough to make her collapse as well. In that moment, Juliet knew that not even her lack of a physical form would have been enough to save her if she attempted to let him know that she was right there with him. So although she could feel how her heart twisted painfully at the thought of her not being able to help, she was forced to watch powerlessly as Romeo slowly forced himself to stand back up.

She followed his path back towards Verona, her pleas for him to stop, to stay away rather than to risk his life by entering the city again when he did not know what the plan was, only making him hesitate for a brief moment.

For a single heartbeat, as Romeo paused, turning around to glance backwards, she might almost have fooled herself into believing that someone had heard her pleas, had allowed Romeo to see her and to listen to her. But of course the feud that had divided their families did not seem like it would ever be satisfied, and after only a second, Romeo continued.

Poison. He bought poison, and unlike how Juliet had known that the mixture she had drunk was only made to replicate and imitate death, the liquid inside the vial that now rested in Romeo's pockets was all too real.

It was in that moment, the very same moment as Romeo walked into the tomb to see where she was sleeping, Juliet realised that it would never end. From her spot above it all, at once so close to him when he slowly tottered forward, cradling her as he cried into her hair, feeling his grief echo in the otherwise silent chamber, and yet so far removed from it all, Juliet could see what would happen now, how the red of the blood that would be spilled next would seep into Romeo's blue cloak, how the fire that was already burning in the city and in the heart of her family as they demanded revenge, that someone would have to pay for the death of Tybalt and their daughter, would rise up against the blue colour of the sky outside. Despite everything, even though she had truly allowed herself to believe that they would be able to escape it, the feud and the hate between their families had always been stronger than them.

As Juliet watched how the desperation, grief, and resolution to join her at last coloured the air around Romeo with a dark purple when he slowly lowered her back down to rest on top of the stone slab once more, pressing a kiss to her lips as he took her hand, squeezing it so tightly that, for a second, Juliet thought she could feel it, she could almost understand them.

She hated the feud. She hated how her father had not once been able to tell her the reason for why they hated the Montagues. She hated how the endless hate had already taken Tybalt and Mercutio away. But more than anything, she hated how Romeo cast one last glance back towards her before emptying the vial.

It was over in a moment, Juliet feeling how her body pulled her back towards it the moment she could no longer see Romeo's chest move. She had been too late. Although she had tried her best to ensure that they would be able to escape from the hate that had already consumed the city around them, it had not been enough.

So was it really such a mystery that her family would enter the tomb moments later to find a young couple lying in there, the knife still resting Juliet's hand from where she had tried to at least spare her family from having to know exactly how it had all ended for her, how she had spent her last moments alone, in pain, and with the world around her seeming empty without Romeo there with her, a feeling she was only able to keep at bay when she had somehow found the strength to reach out to take his heard while twisting around so that she could finally close her eyes with her head lying on top of his chest, able to feel how it would never move again as she slipped away, following Romeo into the unknown?


End file.
